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by DirigibleDetective



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Minor Lanuage, More fluff than you can handle probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 05:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5362865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirigibleDetective/pseuds/DirigibleDetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I had the privilege of working with a lovely piece of art by @krembruleed on tumblr for the Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang. So, here it is, my contribution to the whole thing. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> I had the privilege of working with a lovely piece of art by @krembruleed on tumblr for the Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang. So, here it is, my contribution to the whole thing. Enjoy!

_**Or maybe home is just two arms wrapped around you when you’re at your worst.** _

_via danagray on tumblr_

 

When Meraad Adaar could find neither Varric nor Cassandra, she knew something wasn’t quite right. She stood over the empty table in the great hall, it’s surface scattered with papers, Varric’s neat, blocky handwriting scrawled over them. She’d asked everyone in the hall, but not a one of them had seen Varric all morning. The table continued to offer her no answers, so she turned away with a heavy sigh.

Leliana was making her way up the stairs just as Meraad was heading down, so she stopped the spymaster on her way past. “You haven’t seen Varric, have you?” she asked, irritation plain in her voice. “He just drops the Champion of Kirkwall into my lap then disappears. I have questions that need answers, and now he’s gone and vanished!”

“No, Inquisitor, I have not,” Leliana began, frowning to herself. “You haven’t by any chance come across Cassandra, have you?”

Meraad looked at her, slowly putting together the pieces. “You don’t think she would actually…”

“I think she would.”

“Shit.”

///\\\\\///\\\\\

Everyone knew at least a little bit about the relationship between the Seeker and Varric. At minimum, they all knew that Cassandra had rather thoroughly questioned Varric about his involvement in the events of Kirkwall, an encounter that Varric was all too eager to regale them with repeatedly, complete with dramatic license and an abundance of barely believable one-liners.

So now that the formerly missing Champion of Kirkwall had magically reappeared? The very person Cassandra was trying to find when she apprehended Varric? It made sense that tensions may have come to a boiling point. Meraad made her way back towards Cassandra’s typical haunt, the training dummies silent and unabused for the time being. But as she approached, she could hear something different. Something like shouting. Something like _Cassandra_ shouting.

Meraad hesitated a moment at the armory door, wondering briefly if she might need backup, or a weapon, or backup _and_ a weapon. But then she heard a crash and what sounded disconcertingly like splintering wood, and decided that she might not have time to wait if she still wanted her storyteller in one piece. What she found at the top of the stairs was one broken stool, a table with a kitchen knife buried tip-first into it’s surface, and a heavy clay mug shattered into pieces across the floor.

Of course she also found both Varric and Cassandra, engaged in an epic shouting match and dodging each other’s blows, both physical and verbal.

“You knew where Hawke was _all along_!” Cassandra accused, shoving Varric roughly against a table.

“You’re damned right I did!” he retorted, returning the shove. They either hadn’t noticed her, or had chosen to ignore her presence in favor of continuing their brawl. Meraad herself was too shocked to respond at all, and unsure about what she’d do even if she did intervene.

“You conniving little _shit_!” Cassandra actually took a swing at him, her gauntleted fist whistling through the air. Varric dodged the blow, but suddenly found himself backed against the wall, Cassandra’s irate face inches from his own.

“You kidnapped me! You interrogated me! What did you expect?” he shouted, raising his hands defensively. Cassandra’s fist clenched at her side, and Meraad was faced with the unpleasant premonition of her _actually_ punching Varric in the face. She had a feeling that was something they would all come to regret later.

“Enough!” she finally shouted, stepping forward to insert herself between the two of them, pushing Cassandra out of arm’s reach of Varric.

“What, you’re taking _his_ side?” Cassandra asked, still seething at Varric over Meraad’s outstretched arm.

“I’m not taking any sides. I just don’t really want to watch you beat the shit out of each other any more. I feel like maybe we should use our inside voices and talk this over like the rational, responsible adults we’re _supposed_ to be.” Meraad looked between the two of them, waiting until they both gave her short nods before she stepped back, allowing them to resettle their rumpled clothes while still glaring daggers at each other.

“We needed a leader for the Inquisition. First, Leliana and I looked for the Hero of Ferelden, but he had gone missing. Then we looked for Hawke, but she was gone too. We thought it all connected, but no,” she declared, gesturing to Varric and somehow, though Meraad couldn’t possibly see how, deepening her glare. “It was just _you_. You kept her from us.”

Varric gestured to Meraad with both hands, shaking his head. “The Inquisition _has_ a leader!”

“Hawke would have been at the conclave,” Cassandra insisted. “If anyone could have saved the Most Holy…”

“I don’t see why screaming at Varric has anything to do with what happened at the Conclave,” Meraad interrupted. “Somehow that explosion doesn’t really seem like Varric’s style.”

“I was protecting my friend!” he shouted back at Cassandra, folding his arms over his chest.

The Seeker merely pointed at him, looking at Meraad with a fierce glare. “Varric is a liar, Inquisitor. A snake.” Meraad sighed and opened her mouth to argue, but Cassandra continued. “Even after the Conclave, when we needed Hawke most, Varric kept her secret.”

“When you needed her most?” he asked, his voice incredulous. “What about her friends? What little family she has left, the people who love and care for her? She’s with us now, Seeker. We’re on the same side.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise and gestured at him dismissively. “We all know whose side you’re on, Varric. And it will never be the Inquisition’s.”

“Cassandra, that’s not true and you know it,” Meraad replied, frowning at the Seeker. “Varric was doing what he thought was best for his friend, and I won’t fault him for that.”

“Exactly!”

“That being said,” she added, turning to Varric. “No more secrets. You don’t happen to have the Hero of Ferelden hidden somewhere too?”

Varric grumbled quietly. “Fine. And no, I don’t. And you know what? Even if I did, I’m not exactly in a giving mood right now. I think I’d just hang on to him for a little while, until I wasn’t worried someone might murder me in my sleep,” he finished, with another glare at Cassandra. She just turned away, determinedly ignoring him.

“Go Varric. Just, go,” she said, dropping her head. Meraad and Varric looked at each other silently for a moment before he turned away. He stopped at the top of the stairs to look back at Cassandra and offer one last jab.

“You know what I think?” he began, his expression sad. “If Hawke had been at the temple, she’d be dead too. You people have done enough to her,” he said finally, descending the stairs and leaving one supremely uncomfortable Meraad alone with Cassandra.

///\\\\\///\\\\\

“Hey Boss.”

“Hey Bull.” Meraad sat in a dark corner of the tavern, her hands wrapped around a heavy mug of warm, mulled cider. It offered a welcome heat to cut the chill of Skyhold. Bull sank to a chair at her side, deliberately not blocking her view of the rest of the tavern that she preferred and dropping his own ale to the table.

“I hear you got into it with Cassandra and Varric this morning.”

“Yeah, someone had to stop her from murdering him with her bare hands.”

“That bad?”

“Yup.” Meraad took a sip of her cider, watching as Sera dropped small baubles down from the upper balcony, onto the head of the bard below her. Maryden was once again singing the song she’d written about Sera herself. The blonde elf hated the song, and made a concerted effort to distract Maryden every time she heard it start up below.

“You tell Hawke yet?”

“That they fought over her?” Meraad asked with a chuckle. “She’ll probably just be flattered.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘Cassandra threatened to kill your friend for protecting you’. She might want to know about that.”

“I’m sure Varric will tell her all about it. Telling stories is kind of his thing.”

“Uh huh. So, why don’t we talk about something else? Like, how _great_ your tits look in that shirt…” he said, leaning in with a grin.

“You’re impossible. Do you ever think about anything else?”

“Of course I do. Like how much I love your-”

///\\\\\///\\\\\

Varric walked past the tavern, light and sound spilling from its windows. He could see the Inquisitor and Bull in one corner, sitting shoulder to shoulder and laughing at some unknown joke. Any other night and he might have joined them, but he had someone else he needed to talk to.

Marian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, had laid claim to a room at the very top of one of the watchtowers, a dusty cobweb-encrusted space full of furniture draped in ancient sheets. He could see the flickering lamplight as he made his way up the steps and could hear Marian’s tuneless humming. He shook his head, chuckling as he listened. She couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, but that had never stopped her from trying. The room he walked into was positively choked in dust, and there was Marian, ancient disintegrating sheet in hand, dusting off an only slightly decrepit bed.

“Andraste’s tits, Marian, what are you doing?” Varric coughed out dashing across the room to throw open the shuttered windows. “You do realize that these open, right?”

“Of course I realize that,” she said, unceremoniously dropping the moldering sheet down the stairwell. It landed with a fluttery thump at the bottom as she gathered up another armload of equally time-worn sheets. “I just hadn’t gotten around to opening them yet.”

Varric sighed and shook his head, but took the sheets from Marian’s hands without being asked. “Marian, sometimes I worry that you’re going to die in the most unspectacular way imaginable. ‘Champion of Kirkwall, found suffocated in dust-filled tower’,” he muttered sending his armload of sheets tumbling through the air after the first.

“Oh, Varric, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually cared,” Marian teased, patting Varric on the cheek as he began dusting off a surprisingly beautiful dresser.

“Hmph.” Varric tossed aside the now filthy rag and frowned up at Marian. She was so damn _tall_ … “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Me? Never.” Marian threw herself on to the now-clean bed, grimacing vaguely as it groaned beneath her. She sighed, stretching her arms over her head. Her armor lay discarded in a corner, a pair of fine but battered daggers hung much more carefully from a hook on the wall. Marian curled up on the bed like nothing more than an enormous cat, grinning at Varric from the pile of unmade but clean blankets she’d tossed on the mattress. “Tell me a story, Varric.”

He laughed out loud, dragging a chair around to the side of the bed. “A story? You’ve either heard all my best stories already, or lived them yourself. What story could I possibly tell you?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll come up with _something_ ,” she said with a grin that dissolved suddenly into a yawn. “I’m tired enough that even listening to my own sorry life story would put me right to sleep.”

Varric tried to hide to frown that sprung unbidden to his face. Marian’s life story certainly wasn’t one that he enjoyed retelling, and he was even more certain that being reminded of all the terrible suffering she’d endured was the last thing she needed after being pulled out of hiding and into the mess that was the Inquisition’s new conflict. He rubbed the back of his neck as he thought. “You know, I think I’ve got just the thing…”

///\\\\\///\\\\\

Marian fell asleep long before Varric finished his story. He trailed off, looking fondly over to where Marian slept, curled contentedly in her nest of blankets. It had been so long since he’d seen her, and while she hadn’t changed much, there were parts of her that weren’t quite the same either. There were new lines on her face, lines that spoke of both laughter and sorrow. There was a streak of gray hair hiding just behind one ear, a little glitter of silver that she hid behind another carefully arranged lock of pure black. She’d acquired a few new scars that he could see, one new and raw and curled around her left bicep. And there was a loneliness to her face that she’d never carried before. Marian had always been rather solitary, the deaths of her mother, sister and brother forever changing her. She’d had her friends in Kirkwall, certainly, but none of them really got behind the walls that Marian Hawke had built because Marian Hawke was afraid to let anyone else into her life, lest they too decide to die and leave her alone once more.

Varric sighed to himself, rising from his chair to tuck one last blanket gently around Marian’s lightly snoring form. She didn’t stir as he quietly turned down the lamps in the room and re-shuttered the windows, closing out the chill mountain air.

“Good night, Marian,” he whispered, descending the creaking stairs as slowly as possible and sidestepping the bundles of dusty sheets that still littered the steps in places.

///\\\\\///\\\\\

Meraad really wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, or even if she should do anything. She was staring into the sparring ring, it’s fenced borders lined all the way around with curious spectators, and two eager combatants glaring at each other in the center.

“Varric, whose idea was this?”

“Bull’s.”

“I should have known.”

“He suggested that they should stop trading verbal barbs and just fight for my honor, and I have to admit Inquisitor, I’m flattered that they both agreed.” Varric pulled a red silk handkerchief out of the front of his shirt. “I’m debating giving this to one of them a favor, but I’m not sure who yet.”

Bull stepped into the ring just then, holding blunted weapons in each hand. The pair of daggers went to Marian, who was wearing light leather armor that was far more practical than the ornamental gear she’d arrived in. Cassandra accepted the simple sword from his other hand, picking up a lightweight shield from where it leaned against a fence post. She stood like a rock while Marian bounced on her toes, spinning the daggers in arcs around her body.

“Alright,” Bull began, drawing all eyes to the center of the ring. “Basic sparring rules. Three touches means victory. If you yield, you forfeit. If you’re disarmed, you lose. Sound good?”

Marian raised one hand, a dagger still clutched in her grip. “What if I make her cry, but don’t disarm her, or force her to forfeit? What do I get then?”

“Likely a beating.” Bull deadpanned. “I don’t see the Seeker letting something like that go unpunished.”

Marian nodded sagely. “That’s fair. But what if-”

“Oh let’s just get _on_ with it!” Cassandra exclaimed, raising her shield to a ready position.

Marian looked at Bull, who merely shrugged and stepped out of the way. He slipped over the top of the fence to join Meraad at the sidelines. “Whaddaya think, Boss?” he asked, as the two women began circling each other slowly.

“I think they’re going to try their damndest to actually kill each other with those training blades,” Meraad muttered, while Varric waved his handkerchief dramatically.

Bull scoffed at her, his eye watching the proceedings carefully. “Nah. They’d have to try _really_ -” He was interrupted by an earsplitting clang of metal on metal and the sight of literal sparks flashing through the air. Cassandra and Marian met, blades locked and grinding against each other, the blunt edges of the weapons sliding and sparking as they both pressed in. Bull blinked once. “You know, I take that back.”

Cassandra and Marian had eyes only for each other, their movements turning quickly from playful and cautious to deadly and graceful. Marian was a blur of blades and spins and absurdly acrobatic leaps, while Cassandra was solidly grounded but still there to block and counter every move the more dramatic rogue made. Varric cheered wholeheartedly for both of them, though his enthusiasm began to wane slightly after Cassandra landed her first solid blow against Marian. The edge of her blade caught the Champion in the ribs, knocking her sideways and into a roll that brought her back to her feet a few yards away. Marian pressed the back of one hand against her side, catching her breath as she glared at Cassandra. Varric was still waving his square of red silk, which caught Marian’s eye as she scanned the gathered crowd.

Meraad watched as the Champion took a deep breath and dodged out of the way of Cassandra’s next lunge, using her momentum to carry herself all the way to Varric’s side. She caught the handkerchief of the tip of one blade, bringing it around to quickly tuck down the front of her own shirt with a grin. “I’ll win this one for you, m’lady,” she announced loudly and with a dramatic bow. A bow that was cut short as she threw herself sideways to avoid another attack from Cassandra. From there Varric’s support became much more one-sided.

The match lasted for some time longer, the modest group of observers growing into a crowd four and five deep. This was a show unlike anything many of these recruits had ever seen. It was the best entertainment to arrive in Skyhold in a long time, frankly. Until, suddenly, it was over. Meraad caught sight of a shining piece of metal arcing through the air, spinning end over end until it landed with a splash in a nearby puddle. There was silence for a moment as everyone gathered turned to look into the ring, then burst into thunderous applause. Marian was standing, one dagger pointed at Cassandra’s heart, the other extended behind her back in the follow-through of the strike that ripped Cassandra’s sword right out of her hands. Both women were breathing hard and glaring at each other with a ferocity Meraad found more than slightly terrifying. But Marian didn’t drop her blade, instead stepping a fraction closer to the angry Seeker.

“Threaten my friend again, Seeker, and I promise you that the next time you look down the edge of my blade will be because I’ve buried it in your eye.”

The applause ended abruptly.

“Threaten the Inquisition in any way, Champion, and I’ll run you through before you can even think about drawing your own blade.”

Now people started to disperse with hushed whispers and horrified glances thrown over shoulders. Varric sat on the fence, shaking his head with his face hidden behind his hands.

“Sounds fair,” Marian replied simply, turning away unceremoniously and handing her blades to a shocked Bull. She patted Varric on the shoulder before vaulting over the fence and leaving without a second glance. Meraad sighed, scratching the base of her horns awkwardly.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” she whispered to Bull.

“Nonsense,” he muttered back, following Meraad as she left her place on the sidelines. “They got to work out some of that aggression without _actually_ killing each other. I think it went fine.”

Meraad just shook her head, wandering back towards the great hall and her quarters, where hopefully something far less dramatic awaited her.

///\\\\\///\\\\\

“You really shouldn’t have threatened Cassandra like that…”

Hawke jumped, pulling her shirt back down over her ribs to hide whatever she had been poking at before Varric had arrived so quietly. His frown deepened and he pointed an accusing finger at what she’d tried to cover up. “What is that,” he stated, no hint of a question in his voice.

“That? It’s noth-”

“It’s not nothing. Show me.”

Marian rolled her eyes at him, but obeyed, lifting the hem of her shirt to reveal a growing bruise and a welt that was slowly weeping blood.

“Andraste’s ass, Marian!”

“Like I said, Varric. It’s nothing. You know better than anyone that I’ve had far worse.” She pointed to a long scar on her opposite side. “Remember the Arishok?”

“Of course I remember the Arishok, I found you trying to patch yourself up after that fight as well.” Varric stepped closer to look at the wound, which appeared to be growing worse as they spoke. He shook his head, pointing to a chair in the corner of the room. “Sit. I’ll be right back.”

“Varric, you really don’t-”

“I know I don’t, Marian,” he replied, heading back down the stairs. “But if I don’t, who will?”

///\\\\\///\\\\\

“You know, I had to sneak past Cullen, the Inquisitor, and Sera with my arms full of bandages and salves. So the least you could do is _hold still_.” Varric was gently smearing a foul-smelling poultice on the angry black and purple bruise that covered most of her right side.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But it tickles! I can’t help it.”

“It tickles? I’m getting ready to bind your two broken ribs, and you say that it tickles? Marian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall and uncooperative patient.” Varric gently poked one of the less angry sections of the bruise, causing Marian to hiss through her teeth and and grow, thankfully, still. “Now for the love of Andraste, _stay that way_.” He began to unroll a long, sturdy bandage around her torso, his deft hands keeping the fabric snug as he wrapped it gently yet securely around the broken bones.

It took a few minutes of careful work, Marian’s arms folded over her head, Varric’s own arms intermittently wrapping around her as he passed the shrinking roll of linen around her. As he moved in to secure the loose end of the bandage, he caught sight of a hint of red peeking out from beneath the breast band that was all Marian wore while they worked. He chuckled as he fastened the pin, then grabbed the corner of his handkerchief and pulled, slipping the brilliant piece of silk out.

Marian let loose an entirely girlish squeak as he did, trying to catch the scrap of fabric before Varric could pull it out of reach. “I won that, fair and square. Give it back.”

“What, this old thing? I thought you were fighting for _me_ , not some ratty hanky,” Varric teased, moving the far-from-ratty piece of silk farther away from Marian’s snatching fingers.

“What, _this_ old thing?” Marian threw back, gesturing at all of Varric. “Why would I fight for some ratty old dwarf when I could have such a lovely hanky? I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to sneeze into expensive silk.”

Varric pressed both hands against his chest as if wounded, rocking back with a dramatic gasp. “Marian. You wound me.” He mocked dabbing at a tear with the handkerchief, breaking down into laughter as Marian finally succeeded in snatching it from his hand.

“Don’t muck up my new hanky with your salty little tears, you menace,” Marian teased, returning the piece of silk to its new home between her breasts. “I’m keeping it. I _bled_ for it. I think I deserve my trophy.”

“Fine, fine,” Varric sighed. “I suppose I’ll just have to pick another one from my entire trunk of silk hankies…”

“You do not have an entire trunk of silk hankies.”

“I do too.”

“I call bullshit.”

“Want to bet, Champion?”

Marian narrowed her eyes at him. “Sure. If I’m right, I get to be the first person to read the next chapter of Swords and Shields.”

“You actually _want_ to read the next chapter of my worst serial ever? That hardly seems like a reward.”

“On that we can agree to disagree.”

“Alright then. If you’re wrong, you have to file all my paperwork for a week.”

Marian whined quietly, but nodded. “Fine. That seems unnecessarily cruel, but fine.” She rose and gingerly pulled on a shirt that wasn’t bloodstained. “Let’s go look at your non-existent hanky collection…”

///\\\\\///\\\\\

“Varric, Varric, Varric, Varric…”

“ _What_ , Marian?”

“I got another papercut. This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Andraste’s sweaty tits Marian, it’s been _one day_. I’m beginning to think that this is going to be more of a punishment for me.” Varric dropped his quill into the ink pot and rubbed his hands over his face.

“Yeah well, I have yet to see my new chapter, since we decided that both of us were wrong about your hanky collection. Twelve scraps of fabric in an old shoe box hardly counts as a trunk full of silk hankies.”

“Books take _time_ Marian, you can’t expect me to already have a perfectly bound copy ready and waiting for you the next day. But we did decide that my hankies counted as a collection of some sort, so here we are.”

“Hmph. I think that this one was the nicest one you had.” Marian pulled the piece of silk from the front of her shirt, tying the entire thing around her hand. “There. I’m sure that’ll staunch the bleeding from this near-fatal papercut.”

Varric just sighed and shook his head, but the smile that teased at the corner of his mouth told them both that his heart wasn’t in it.

///\\\\\///\\\\\

Marian walked into her room that night to find a perfectly bound copy of Swords and Shields waiting for her on her bed.

///\\\\\///\\\\\

Meraad was shaking with barely suppressed laughter as she walked up to Varric at his table. Marian was working diligently beside him, helping sort letters from publishers from other correspondence.

“Varric, I have an enormous favor to ask,” she began, sinking into a chair opposite them. “Cassandra wants you to finish Swords and Shields. She practically begged me to ask you for the next chapter. She even suggested that I _command_ you to finish it.”

Marian made no effort to hide her delight. She threw her head back and laughed, a rather short lived thing as she winced in pain and wrapped an arm around her ribs. “Doesn’t she know that books take _time_ , Inquisitor? She can’t expect Varric to just have a perfectly bound copy lying around, now can she?”

Meraad raised one eyebrow, clearly aware of the fact that she was missing out on some inside joke.

Varric just shook his head but looked back at the Inquisitor. “Just ignore her. I usually do. Anyway. I’m going to choose not to comment on the fact that you just told me that the Seeker reads my smutty romance novels. But let’s say I did have another chapter. If you want to give it to Cassandra, I have only one request.”

“And what would that request be?”

“I want to be there when you give it to her.”

///\\\\\///\\\\\

“Where do you think you’re going with that?”

“What, this old thing?” Marian replied, stepping around Varric where he tried to block her way. “Thought I’d go outside, get some fresh air, read a little bit of this _delightful_ novel…” She was clutching her copy of Swords and Shields to her chest, the cover bared proudly to anyone who passed. Varric’s red handkerchief stuck out from the top as a bookmark, firmly planted nearly halfway through the book.

“Absolutely not. I knew this would happen, I _told_ you not to harass Cassandra.”

“How is me reading _my_ book harassing? This just seems unfair.”

“I told you that it would take at least a week for me to get another copy. I also told you not to torment the Seeker with your copy of the book she apparently so desperately wants. What do you think she’ll do to me if she realizes that I gave _you_ a copy of the book and not her?” Varric sidestepped to try and block Marian again, glaring up at her.

“Don’t worry, my small dwarf friend. I’ll keep you safe from the big angry seeker.” She dodged around him, blowing him a kiss as she sauntered out into the sunlight, book in hand.

///\\\\\///\\\\\

Hawke had made herself comfortable on stairs above where Cassandra trained, a blanket draped over the hard stones and her book in her lap. She leaned over the edge again, grinning down as Cassandra. “Hey Cass. Cass, are you ignoring me?”

“I am trying to, yes.”

“I thought so. Hey did you know that the Knight-Captain and-”

“I do not wish to know.”

“Really? I thought maybe, since you don’t have a copy of this, I could just read it to you?”

“No, thank you.”

“Well fine then. Here I was trying to be nice.”

“Somehow, Hawke, I find it hard to believe that you are being even remotely genuine.”

///\\\\\///\\\\\

“Is that Cassandra’s book? It is. It is, isn’t it? Can I come along when you give it to her? Please? Please? Please?” Varric was unwrapping a small, book-sized parcel while Marian looked over his shoulder eagerly, literally bouncing up and down on her toes.

“No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Nonsense. It’s a wonderful idea. In fact, I’ll go tell Meraad that it’s here.” Marian dashed away before Varric could stop her, heading towards the gardens where the Inquisitor spent much of her time.

///\\\\\///\\\\\

“I am not a child, Varric!” Cassandra was glaring daggers again, apparently one of her favorite tricks. Marian stood a short distance behind Meraad and Varric, watching everything with an eager grin. A grin she let fall for a moment and she locked eyes with the irritable Seeker. They stared at each other for a moment, Marian’s presence at Varric’s back a silent promise. Cassandra was the first to look away, returning her gaze to Varric as he brought the book out from behind his back.

“Consider it a peace offering. The next chapter of Swords and Shields. I hear you’re a fan…” He held the book out, while Cassandra turned her irritation on Meraad.

“This is your doing,” she accused.

“Absolutely,” Meraad affirmed with a grin. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

Varric shrugged and moved to walk away. “Well,” he began. “If you’re not interested, you’re not interested…”

“It’s really not very good anyway,” Marian offered from the back. “You probably wouldn’t like it at all. Especially since after the Knight-Captain was falsely accused, the guardsman-”

“No!” Cassandra stepped forward and snatched the book from Varric’s hand. “Don’t tell me!”

Marian tried to hide her laughter behind her hand, while Varric turned and grinned up at Cassandra. “I believe this is the part where you thank the Inquisitor. I don’t normally give sneak peeks.”

“I… Thank you,” she finally said to Meraad.

“Oh no, Cassandra. Thank _you_. This was the best entertainment I’ve had in some time.” Meraad turned away, heading back to her work in the gardens, then stopped. “But you know, it probably wouldn’t hurt to thank Varric as well. He is, after all, the one who did all the work.”

“I suppose I should thank you, Varric.”

“Oh, you know me. Always a humble servant to my loyal fans.”

///\\\\\///\\\\\

“Hey Cass, how far are you? Have you gotten to the part with the mabari yet? It’s great, he-”

“Stop talking, Hawke.”

 

“Seeker, Seeker. Have you read the part when they’re in the Chantry yet?”

“Yes.”

“Great! Well how about the part where it’s revealed that it wasn’t really-”

“ _Enough_.”

 

“Oh, Cassandra, are you _crying_?”

“I most certainly am not.”

“You just got to the part with the mabari, didn’t you.”

“I… Yes.”

“I’ll leave you alone then.”

“That’s unusually kind of you.”

“You’re welcome.”

 

“Hey Cass.”

“What, Hawke?”

“I finished it.”

“I happen to know that you finished it two days ago and have just been pretending to read up there.”

“Okay, fine. But you’re so close to finishing too. You’re going to love the ending. The Knight-Captain and the-”

“If you do not stop talking I will throw you from the castle walls myself.”

“Right. Quiet. Can do.”

///\\\\\///\\\\\

Varric couldn’t find Marian. She wasn’t in her room, the tavern was occupied by everyone but her, and even her usual reading haunt was vacant. He stood in the middle of the moon-lit courtyard, frowning to himself. Then, just as he turned to head back inside, he caught sight of her. There, silhouetted against the moon itself, Marian sat on the rooftop of the tower that Meraad had recently had renovated for the mages. Varric stood silently for a moment, just watching her. She was far above him and silhouetted only vaguely by the light of the full moon rising above the castle walls, but there was no doubt in his mind who it was. He’d know Marian from a mile away. He pocketed the small parcel he carried and made his way towards Marian’s perch.

“You know Varric, you’re very quiet, but somehow I always know when it’s you.” Marian didn’t bother to turn and look at him, still staring out into the emptiness below Skyhold.

Varric sank down at her side, laughing lightly. “There’s quite the party happening in the tavern. Apparently the Inquisitor killed a dragon and brought back the head to mount in the Great Hall. You didn’t want to join them?”

Marian shook her head. “No, I wasn’t really in a partying mood.”

“You, not in a partying mood? Is that even possible?”

She didn’t respond, but continued twisting her hands together in her lap. Varric realized suddenly that it wasn’t just her hands, in between them was his red handkerchief, which she worried at nervously.

“It’s just… I don’t know. It’s a lot to deal with. This, the Inquisition, Corypheus, the Wardens, mages and templars, wars and fires and death. And I see my mistakes everywhere I look. When is it going to stop, Varric? When am I going to be able to go back to Kirkwall and walk out my front door and not see someone lying dead in the streets of Hightown? I just, I want to go _home_.” She took a shaky breath, her fist clenched white-knuckled around the handkerchief.

“Oh, Marian.” Varric dropped one of his wide hands over hers. He could feel the tension in her fingers, the joints creaking under the strain. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Really, Varric? Remember Anders? Remember how I _helped_ him? How about Corypheus? Remember staring down at his _dead body_ with me? No? Because I do. I remember the sound of the chantry exploding, the smell of the city burning around me, the screams of innocent people _dying_. I remember-”

“Marian. Stop.” He forced her hand open, trapping it between both of his. He was worried she’d hurt herself, her grip was so tight. “Of course I remember all that. But do you want to know what else I remember?”

“Highly embarrassing things, surely.”

“Well, yes.” he said with a grin. “I also remember all the good you did. I remember you helping people who were in trouble, I remember you almost single-handedly clearing gangs off the streets of Lowtown. I remember you in the Hanged Man one night, drunk off your ass and trying to convince Curly that you could _definitely_ catch an arrow out of the air and that it was _absolutely_ necessary that you prove it right then and there.”

“Oh, Maker. Do you think he remembers that too?”

“Maybe. You could ask him. But for now, look around you.”

“Varric, it’s pitch black out there. I can’t see anything.”

“Look a little more _figuratively_ then.” He gestured to the castle spread out beneath them, it’s edges silvered and defined by the moon. “Look at what’s been built. All these people, gathered together to stop Corypheus and end this conflict between the mages and the templars. And now we get a chance to be a part of it. Isn’t that something worth celebrating, worth fighting for?”

“Of course it is, Varric. But if it weren’t for some of the things I did, we wouldn’t have to be here at all.” Marian sighed wistfully. “You know, I really hated Kirkwall when we first arrived there, so many years ago now. But somehow, it became home. And I miss it.” She slipped her hand free of his, the handkerchief caught between her fingers. “That’s why I like this so much. It reminds me of home.”

“That old thing reminds you of Kirkwall?” Varric asked with a laugh. “Why? Because it should have been thrown away a few decades ago?”

“No,” she said, her voice distant. “It reminds me of the banners in the alienage when we’d visit Merrill. It reminds me of Isabela and all her silks and spices. It reminds me of Aveline’s hair and all the times she pulled us out of trouble. And sometimes, it smells like-” She held it up to her face, taking a slow deep breath through the fabric, it’s edges fluttering in the mountain breeze. She dropped her hands to her lap suddenly, looking away from Varric and into the night sky.

“It smells like what?” he prompted. “I’m a little nervous to hear what my old hanky might smell like…”

He could just see the outline of Marian’s smile as she turned back to look at him. “You,” she said simply. “It smells like fine whiskey and finer ink and parchment and home. It reminds me of Kirkwall, and of our friends, and all of that, but it mostly reminds me of the one person who has been by my side through everything. It reminds me of the one person who could have convinced me that coming out of hiding to help the Inquisition was a good thing. It reminds of _home_ , Varric. Because wherever you are is where I feel at home, is where I feel safest.”

Varric was, in a rare turn of events, struck speechless. “Marian, I…”

She interrupted him with a wave of her hands, shaking her head. “You don’t have to say anything, Varric. Just, you know, forget I ever said anything. It’s noth-”

Varric kissed her. He kissed her, pulling her face down to his with both hands. Varric had always been a man of words over actions. A problem that he couldn’t solve with a carefully worded letter or witty banter wasn’t a problem he wanted to get involved in. But he knew that this was a moment for actions rather than words.

Marian though, was a woman of actions. A problem that she couldn’t solve by hitting someone or breaking something wasn’t a problem she wanted to get involved in. At first she was shocked. It wasn’t an unwelcome response, but it was certainly not the response she had expected. But Varric’s actions spoke to her more loudly than his words ever could.

They separated, staring at each other in the silvered moonlight. “And I was always so sure that you and Broody had something going,” Varric teased, smiling softly up at her.

Marian laughed. “Me and Fenris?” She laughed again, a carefree, delighted sound that made Varric’s heart leap. “No, no. I mean, we might have tried, briefly, but Fenris? Vengeance is the only mistress he’ll ever need. Well, and Isabela whenever she’s in port, but don’t ever tell him I told you that.”

“Broody and the Pirate?” Varric asked incredulously. “If I’d heard it from anyone else, I wouldn’t believe it.”

“Well now you know.” Marian sighed distantly, still half-turned to face Varric. She took a deep breath, a frown creasing her face. “Varric, have you- did you always- was it because you thought me and-”

“No,” he interrupted simply, shaking his head. “Why did I never tell you how I felt? Because our friendship was too important to me to risk destroying it with feelings I wasn’t sure were mutual.”

Marian wrapped him in a crushing hug, dropping her head onto his shoulder. He returned the gesture, bringing one hand up to run his fingers through her short, ragged hair.

“Hey Varric?” Her voice was muffled against his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“We wasted a lot of time. Let’s not waste any more, okay?”

///\\\\\///\\\\\

Meraad nudged Bull with her elbow. “Hey, look.” She nodded to the corner opposite their own in the crowded tavern. Marian and Varric had slipped in nearly unnoticed and had settled into a table. Settled in very close to each other. “I told you. I called it ages ago. Pay up.”

Bull shook his head and scoffed. “Not a chance,” he said. “He gave her a box of hankies. That doesn’t count.” They watched as Marian unwrapped a small parcel and pulled out a shimmering silk handkerchief in a brilliant blue, and another crafted of a light-sucking black.

“You know,” Meraad began, watching as they laughed over the two scraps of silk. “Those kind of match-” She gasped and slapped Bull’s arm. “Oh! _Oh_!” Marian and Varric were kissing in the _middle of the tavern_ in full view of _everyone_. “Pay up, pay up, pay _up_! I _told you_!”

Bull just groaned and dug into his pocket, dropping a few silvers onto the table in front of Meraad. She scooped them up while gleefully watching the Champion and the Storyteller settle comfortably into each other’s arms.

 


End file.
